


Battles of Wit

by 64K



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Depression, Double Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Mid-Canon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Unwound Future, Slow burn friendship, eventually, higher rating for mental health issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64K/pseuds/64K
Summary: A crying, lonely child, and his paragon of a saviour. That’s how their relationship began, and, ten years later, that’s what they’ve returned to. This time though, they have time to talk, to build a friendship. Perhaps those ten-year-old memories of each other, those one-dimensional images, aren’t quite as accurate as either of them thought.Clive and Layton double drabbles, written non-chronologically.
Relationships: Clive & Hershel Layton
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	1. Ideals

**_Hero_ **

Someone had taken a picture of him, on that awful day.

Hershel sees it two days after the explosion. He's on the bus, making his way to Gressenheller for the second day of class, after he missed teaching the first day, when he sees a crumpled newspaper on the floor, torn and mud-stained where thirty feet had stepped upon it.

His heart stops when he sees the front page.

It's him. Him, and that little boy, and the small crowd that'd gathered around them, and the smoking husk of a building ahead of them.

He remembers now—the smoke's stench, the red sky, the way the boy sobbed into his coat, and the feeling of him being pulled out of Hershel's arms by paramedics.

"You're a hero, y'know," someone had said, slapping Hershel's shoulder with a thud that made his knees almost give way. "He'd have died without you, for certain."

Hershel's breath catches in his throat.

He's not a hero.

He'd shouted. He'd shook the boy, for trying to do what _he'd_ wanted to do, for wanting to run to his death to save her…

He can't breathe…

He doesn't teach that day, or for the rest of the term.

* * *

**_Rated_ **

"Clive, dear; your professor's in the paper again!"

Clive forces himself to keep from leaping from his seat and tearing the paper from Spring's hand. "Oh, is he?" he says instead, smiling pleasantly. "What did he do this time?"

"Got himself tenure, he did," Spring chuckles, "and an award as well. Seems the students at Gressenheller love him. He's the most highly rated prof they've ever had."

Clive peers over Spring's shoulder. The professor's smiling face stares back, along with the faces of a crowd of other scholars.

"Tell me, dearie," says Spring, looking over her shoulder towards Clive. "Why're you so interested in him? Are you thinking of taking up archeology?" She laughs. "Somehow, I can't see you rolling in the dirt. But I'd rest easy knowing Professor Layton was your teacher. He sounds like quite the gentleman."

"Perhaps," says Clive, shrugging. "I haven't decided yet."

It's impossible to explain to Spring why he's kept tabs on the professor for all these years, impossible to explain the horrible combination of admiration, gratitude, and resentment he feels when he sees that name in the paper.

Hershel Layton. A constant, living reminder of Clive's darkest moment. His reason to pursue justice.

* * *

**_Test_ **

The young man's eyes narrow as he stares down at the row of cards. He taps the cards silently; Hershel can see the cogs in his brain turning as he works out a solution. Finally, the boy turns toward him, a reproachful look in his eyes. "The puzzle is flawed, professor."

"Is it?" Hershel watches him closely. "In what way?"

In what way would the Future Luke respond to a conundrum like this?

"There's no way to solve it, given the conditions set out." The boy crosses his arms. "There's nowhere the spade could be."

"You're correct." Hershel turns the cards over. A club, two hearts, and a diamond reveal themselves. "There was no spade. Do you know why?"

It takes the young man no time at all to respond. "You never specified if there would be a card from each suit."

As if he knew all along.

Would Luke be able to plan so many steps ahead?

"Precisely," he says. "And that was the real test, wasn't it? After all, your puzzle also lacked the same specification."

A satisfied expression spreads across the boy's face. "You truly _are_ Professor Layton."

Hershel envies his self-assuredness. _His_ test's results were inconclusive.

* * *

**_Gray_ **

The crash, this time, is devastating.

It always happens this way. A spiral, twisting and turning, carrying him up to heaven; an obsession, something to work towards, to live for. Then, it crashes down, funneling towards the earth, and he hits the ground with crushing force.

It's the same as always, just… a thousand times worse. The weight of the guilt, of the knowledge of what he's done, of the _impossibility_ of atoning, and, worse, that all this was for _nothing,_ and Bill Hawks still walks free—it's too much. His bones are shattered, his life, spent; rising and walking is something he can't even dream of.

But that's alright.

It's what he deserves.

It's justice, after all.

"Clive."

That voice… it's like a hand reaching into the water, pulling him out of the deep, into the clear air.

"I… thought you might like to talk."

Why is he doing this? Clive doesn't deserve _anything._

"If you're interested, I'm here."

If he could, he'd wrench himself away from the professor's saving grasp, but he doesn't have the strength.

"You… you shouldn't have come," he finally manages.

"I wanted to."

A lie.

But… it would be nice, if it were the truth.

* * *

**_Teamwork_ **

"Clive, my boy. Your filing system is certainly… esoteric."

"Perhaps." Clive shrugs. "But I'm sure you'll learn to decipher it."

His nonchalance is almost infuriating—especially considering how much time Hershel has wasted searching for things that, before Clive's cleaning rampage, had been right where Hershel wanted them. "Perhaps," he says mildly, "but it would save me time if you would explain it to me."

"But it's a puzzle, professor."

It's astounding how Clive, who is completely thrown by any minor hitch in any of his plans, can be so cheeky when it comes to Hershel's routine being disrupted. "Yes. One puzzle that I'd rather not solve." Hershel pulls a book from where Clive had placed it, setting it emphatically on his desk, ignoring Clive's frown. "I don't know where anything is, now."

"It was so _messy,_ though." Clive puts the book back. He sighs. "I'm trying to be helpful."

"Are you?"

"Well..." Clive pauses, then reluctantly gives an acquiescing nod. "Yes, but I'm also trying to be difficult."

"Thank you for your honesty, Clive." It's difficult to hide his smile, so Hershel doesn't bother. "Now. Will you explain the trick behind this puzzle?"

Clive smiles. "It would be my honour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing from this same prompt list for a couple of romantic pairings recently, and I feel like it gave me a lot of good ideas for how those pairings relate to and interact with each other. Recently I thought, why restrict it to romance? Clive and Layton are one of my favourite brotps ever, and I’ve been wanting to write more about them, so I thought I would start another challenge for them as well (so many WIPs… :’D)
> 
> Notes:
> 
> 1: These are non-chronological (as usual), but each individual chapter’s drabbles are organized chronologically.
> 
> 2: These are related to my “Justice or Mercy” stories, but some minor details may be different. If you’ve read those, though, these will be in a similar vein.
> 
> 3: These will be part of the same story as my Clive/Flora challenge “Misery Tangled With Flowers,” but you don’t need to read it. They have a few “story arcs” in common, but I think these should be able to stand on their own well enough without you having to read the other challenge as well.
> 
> 4: Like “Misery Tangled With Flowers,” this is rated a cautious T because of mental health issues. It’s G-rated in all other respects. I’ll try to warn in the chapter notes if anything especially delicate comes up, as well as in the story’s tags.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading; I really appreciate your time.


	2. Communication

_Questioning_

"What was it like, all of those years without me? When you watched me walk down that dark path?"

A shadow crosses Future Luke's eyes. He turns his face away. "It was… difficult," he says hesitantly. "Very difficult."

Hershel wants to study the boy's face, to see if there's truth in his expression, but maybe-Luke refuses to look him in the eye. "It's alright," he simply says, keeping his voice gentle, unassuming. "You don't need to say anything."

"Well…" Luke looks back at him warily. "I'd almost like to."

"Then go on, my boy."

Luke searches his face, his expression wide-eyed and innocent for one brief moment. Then, it passes, his expression suddenly hard, his fists clenching. "It… it will do no good, Professor. All of those years, that I just… wanted to talk to you, and yet… I knew that it would accomplish nothing. Nothing would change."

"Is Future Layton that far gone, then?"

Luke turns away. "I… _he_ might be."

The boy may not truly be Luke, but Hershel can hear the genuine distress in the boy's voice. "I'm sorry, Luke. Please, know that I'm here now. You can talk to me."

But Luke only looks away, silent.

* * *

_Insanity_

"Clive, this is unthinkable."

_(It is. )_

But it's the only logical course of action.

This plan has consumed Clive's every thought for years _._ Ever since Constance… ever since she _died,_ it's been the only thing in Clive's mind. Nothing else matters. Vengeance… _justice_ … he clings to those words for dear life.

The professor is a fool if he thinks appealing to Clive's conscience will stop him.

( _But… please, please try)._

"Dimitri and Bill will be punished." The professor rambles on and _on,_ senseless, a _lunatic,_ for not seeing how reasonable this all is. "Isn't that justice enough?"

The professor is laughably naive. _Turn the puzzle pieces this way and that. Slot Bill and Dimitri into their jail cells, and voila! Puzzle solved._

Only, this isn't a puzzle.

There's no logic to the government's depravity. No law can stop them. And they've hurt the professor too, haven't they? Clive's read everything even remotely connected to this incident. He knows what they did to Layton, how they killed his fiancee, how they beat him, leaving him to die. He should be as bitter as Clive is, but, somehow, he isn't.

There's something very wrong with Hershel Layton.

_(No… something's wrong with me)._

* * *

_Flowers_

"I never expected such a lovely garden to be here."

The professor nods his head in approval, his eyes darting to and fro across the courtyard. Clive can't suppress a feeling of pride, however small it may be. "Yes, well…" he shrugs. "It's something to occupy ourselves with. Although, I've done most of this alone; most of the others here have no interest in gardening."

"And you do?"

"Surprising, I know." The two of them arrive at Clive's plot, the rows of flowers perfectly straight, arranged by colour. "You remember Shipley?" asks Clive, kneeling down, picking off a dead leaf. "He was the gardener for my… for Lady Dove. He taught me about growing things, when I was little."

"I see." The professor's eyes scan the flowerbed, a contented smile coming to his face. "He taught you well—although I admit, I have no experience with gardening."

"I could teach you!" That came out too enthusiastically. Clive coughs. "Of course, it's rather too late in the year. Next year, though. Next spring."

He can survive the winter if he has that spring to look forward to.

"I look forward to it," the professor smiles, and Clive smiles too, dreaming of spring.

* * *

_Playing the Melody_

"I'm not good at this."

"So you've said before. But the evidence suggests otherwise." Hershel readjusts his viola. "Play a D, would you?"

Clive lets out a dramatic sigh, pressing the D far harder than necessary. His theatrics are more aggravating than amusing, but at least Clive pressed the note this time. That's better than Hershel can say for the last five times he's attempted this. He'll celebrate every small victory. "Thank you," he says, playing the fifth above, adjusting the strings until the interval rings true. "You did well."

"At playing one note? Hah." Clive rolls his eyes. "I'm a musical genius. A second Beethoven."

"Not a Beethoven—but perhaps a second Schumann. Speaking of which—” Hershel plays the opening bars of the first movement of _Märchenbilder._ "I heard you playing this yesterday. Why don't we try it together?"

"You heard that?" Clive looks away. "I was awful. I didn't want you to hear."

"I'd love to play it with you."

"You deserve a skilled accompanist."

Hershel smiles, raising the viola. "You're skilled enough. Now. Breathe with me."

Clive sits frozen for one long minute. Then, slowly, he breathes in, closing his eyes. They're ready now, and together, they begin.

* * *

_Precious Treasure_

"Drink this."

"Tea doesn't mend all wounds, professor." But Clive drinks it anyway. The flavour is so distinct, it seems to almost have a timbre. The flavours sing in gentle harmony, calming his shaking hands. "What kind is this?"

"I call it the Layton Elixir."

Clive watches the professor struggle to maintain his solemn expression before he finally gives in, chuckling quietly to himself. Clive laughs too, and is surprised at how controlled his laughter is. If he'd started a moment ago, before the professor approached him, he'd have laughed till he cried.

"The Layton Elixir?" he repeats, stifling one last giggle. "What does it do? Raise the dead? Transmutation?"

"Nothing so special as that." Layton takes a sip. "But it does improve my mood. And I see there's a smile on your face now, too."

Clive slowly gazes into the cup, studying his warped reflection. "There is. How observant of you."

"Yes." The professor, smiling, looks up from his cup. "Sometimes, that's all it takes. A quiet moment, tea, a puzzle… a friend to chat with."

A friend? Laughable. The professor shouldn't speak so glibly. But still, Clive's smile doesn't fade, and neither does the warmth in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't be posting at one A.M, but here I am... I've been working on and off on these for quite awhile, writing a few words here and there in between assignments. I haven't had a lot of time for writing lately, but I'm glad that I've finally finished a few; I've been having a lot of feels for these two lately...
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I really appreciate it.


	3. Promise

_Drink_

They've barely begun exploring Future London, and Clive already feels ready to scream.

Of course, everything is going according to plan. He wouldn't have brought Layton down here if he wasn't sure that everything was ready. His nerves shouldn't be this frayed already. His story, his acting, Future London… everything is perfect. Everything-

"Luke?"

Clive snaps to attention. Anita's leaning toward him, an elbow on the counter, grinning carelessly. "Luke, m'boy, what can I get you?"

Clive runs a hand across his forehead, trying to remember what he'd been about to say, why he was even in her cafe in the first place. "Ah… sorry. Black tea, please."

That's sure to calm him.

"Your tastes have matured, I see."

Clive almost jumps. The professor's by his side, smiling curiously. "You always liked your tea sweet before. Even I take some sugar in mine. You've changed, Luke."

Ever the stickler for details. Clive's not going to let him one-up him on something so small. He takes a breath. "I suppose I've grown up a bit, since you left me all those years ago," he says evenly, taking the cup from Anita.

It's darkly satisfying, seeing that shadow cross the professor's face.

* * *

_Out Cold_

"He was ready to die, Hershel."

Celeste's voice wavers. Hershel tightens his grip on the steering wheel, sparing a glance behind him. Celeste's wide eyes are focused intently on Clive's face, his head lolling against her shoulder.

"You saved him, Celeste. He's alive," Hershel says calmly, to reassure her (and himself). And yes, Clive _is_ alive-but only because of her.

Hershel would have left him behind.

Yes, it was because he thought it would be too dangerous to venture inside the self-destructing fortress, but Hershel's gone out of his way to help so many others before, when it would have been easier to pass them by. That's what a gentleman does. Of course, Clive has done a great wrong, but Hershel's no stranger to mercy. He could have saved him. He should have.

Why did it take Celeste begging him to turn back to actually do it?

"You wanted to keep me safe, I know." It's like she read his mind. "But he's… he's just a boy, really. He has to _live._ Please… promise me that you'll take care of him, Hershel."

Hershel studies her face, then Clive's. They're _both_ deadly pale...

"I promise," he says, and Celeste's gaze softens.

* * *

_Sacrifice_

"Are you unhappy with your sentence?"

He'll seem terribly ungrateful if he answers truthfully, and he's too tired to imagine a convincing lie, so Clive doesn't answer at all. He lies still, on his side, staring into the wall, eyes unfocused. His head throbs, each breath, enough to make him dizzy.

But that's good. It's what he deserves.

"I know the word… 'insane' might be demeaning." The professor's voice is gentle, but hesitant. "But surely it's better than prison. There may even be an opportunity for you to leave the asylum someday, if you continue to improve."

He doesn't deserve that opportunity.

Clive's crimes are massive. Proper atonement is a dream that he can never achieve. The closest thing to atonement that's within his reach is penance, and even that will be taken from him now.

He should be locked away in a dark cell, forever isolated from the world. Or better yet, he should _die_ , and everyone he hurt can be satisfied.

He needs to _suffer._

"Clive?"

"...Please go." He speaks in a whisper. "I'm… too tired to talk."

If he isn't allowed to atone, he, at the very least, shouldn't be allowed the comfort of the _professor's_ mercy.

* * *

_Vacation_

"I'll do it for you."

Hershel blinks himself awake, trying to register what Clive had just said. "You'll what?"

"Mark your papers." Clive leaps over to the desk, rummaging through the drawers until he finds Hershel's carefully sorted stack of papers. "Don't worry, Professor. Continue your nap. You deserve it."

For one slothful moment, Hershel's tempted to let him. But inevitably, duty vanquishes laziness, and he sits up from where he'd been lying on the sofa, adjusting his hat. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but really, Clive. You don't know anything about archeology."

Clive waves his hand dismissively. "I've dabbled. But really, it doesn't matter what the subject matter is. I know a well-structured paper when I see one."

"Perhaps. But I can't have you doing for me what I'm actually _paid_ to do."

"Just _try_ to stop me," scoffs Clive. "This is what an acolyte _does,_ Professor."

It's endearing, how eager he is. Well, if he does something wrong, Hershel can correct it later. "Very well," he sighs, lying back down. "But just this once. You'll have to apply to be my teaching assistant if you want to do it again."

"Fine," says Clive lightly, and turns to his work.

* * *

_Pen and Paper_

Dear Professor

I'm struggling.

I thought I was better, but I'm not. Not anymore, not now that you're gone.

I don't know how Flora's managing to hold it together, because she needs you far more than I do, doesn't she? Kat and Al, as well… they desperately need you. But somehow I'm reacting worse than them all, despite needing you least, and I'm worrying them all, and I don't want to, because I need to be there to help them, without you there. But I can't do your job, because I'm not a gentleman like you. I'm a madman who can barely take care of himself, let alone take care of anybody else.

You're not my father, and it's ridiculous to feel this way, but I feel the same now as when Constance died. And now I'm afraid I'll go mad again, like I did after she died, but I can't. I can't do that again. I have to be strong, for Flora and the kids' sake. I can't go down that dark path again. But if I find out that somebody hurt you, I

I'd kill them.

I was finally happy again, and now I

Please come home.

Clive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking so long! I've been really busy with school, but I was starving for my brotp, so I thought that I'd better sit down and write something! It's funny, these drabble collections were supposed to be my "stress-free" thing to write, but at the same time, it's like... I'm telling a whole story out of order, and I need to get all the details right, so they aren't very stress-free after all, haha... I'm sorry that these are mostly angst as well; I hope that after I establish the relationship a little better, I'll be able to write more lighthearted things.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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